


Until We Meet Again

by Margaret Ann (Manderson)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Asgard, Asgardian Loki, Canada, Canon Compliant, Captain America: The First Avenger, M/M, Russia, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5701597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manderson/pseuds/Margaret%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While living in self-imposed exile on Midgard, Loki encounters Steve Rogers for the very first time...and is forever changed by the experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prophetic_Fortune_Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prophetic_Fortune_Cookie/gifts).



Water fell softly down from the cliffs which soared miles in the air. Misty clouds clung to their tops, softening their purple-gray sides and hiding the scrubby lichen coating their surfaces. Below, the spray created another haze, blurring the figures of the bathing women. Even their voices and laughter was a murmur blending with birdsong and the dull roar of the falls.  _ It is almost a scene from an ancient Japanese wall hanging _ , Lora mused as she looked down upon it. She smiled to herself.  _ Time to see how they do with a little Greek influence _ .

Carefully she picked her way down over the rocks and tumbled stones to the water’s edge. The other women smiled at her a bit hesitantly; they didn’t always take kindly to strangers, Lora knew, but she also knew that they would be too polite to demand her credentials and life story in order to let her stay.  _ Unless _ …Lora quickly shoved that thought away. Not that she hadn’t prepared anything in advance, should they ask, but she knew from experience that not everyone would welcome her warmly—or believe her tales. Confidence is the key to success, she’d learned over her many years, and the slightest wavering in her sincerity usually spelled her doom.

She slid her robe from her body, the soft, silky fabric pooling around her ankles in a wave of sea foam green. As the others had done she folded it neatly and left it on a nearby rock beside the slippers she stepped out of. She dipped one toe into the water, and heat flooded her body. She’d always heard that this particular pool, the one where the women swam and bathed, was the finest in the land, but it’d taken her forever to finally make the journey. With that one touch, she knew it would be worth it.

_ For many reasons _ , she thought as she slipped silently into the pool. The figures around her were soft and generously curved, the mist clinging to their glistening skin in a gauzy curtain that left just enough to the imagination to be enticing. Their hair seemed almost metallic in the haze: gold, copper, bronze, tin, carbon steel, wrought iron. Their eyes glittered like gems as they looked at her curiously. She smiled back, the shy, innocent smile she’d perfected from long days in front of a mirror. Her lips curved in a gentle pink bow, and she knew her cheeks must be rosy from the steam—all the better, of course, since they would then believe she was blushing from being with them. Everything in line to perfect her persona.

She waded more deeply into the water, glancing surreptitiously here and there at the women around her. Here and there groups of bathers soaked and spoke of idle things: clothes, books, men, women. A pair of young women, no more than twenty-five, giggled and splashed one another to the disdain of some of the older ladies leaning up against the rocks which rose as sturdily as their frames from the steaming pool. A few scrubbed their hair with bars of sweet-scented soap, while others washed their friends’ backs. Lazily, some reclined on large, flat stones in the center of the pool, inhaling deeply of the moist air; the rising of their chests distracted her for a moment, and she felt a stirring in her stomach at the sight. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself onwards to the falls themselves.

Most of the water feeding the pool was warm, naturally heated by the spring bubbling up below the waterfall. The water coming from the mountain, though, was snow melt, and Lora could feel the temperature drop as she approached them. Only a few brave souls stood beneath the churning water, but she knew she’d only find what she was looking for—there. She swallowed back a grin as she gazed upon the scene before her.

The pale, slick skin over taut muscles.

The wide thighs, powerful enough to run long distances, but still graceful and elegant.

The rounded hips, broad for birthing heroes.

Heavy breasts with pert nipples, rock-hard in the chilly water.

Lithe arms, accustomed to swords and shields and spears alike.

And then their faces, each one unique, but all possessing the same fresh-scrubbed glow, and all crowned with thick, though wet, hair.

Valkyries.

Watching them, awed, the stirrings in Lora’s body were almost feverish. She swallowed hard and refrained from wincing as she moved closer to them. She’d admired them so many times from afar, dreamed of them so many nights, that to be this close seemed almost a miracle. She wanted them—all of them—but even one would be glorious—that wet skin under her mouth—those legs entwined in hers—that hair tight in her fingers—the gasp of pleasure rising up to the heavens themselves—

“Who are you?” a harsh voice asked.

_ Shit _ , Lora thought. Her dreams crashed around her like the water from the falls. Slowly, slowly she turned to the speaker, praying she was wrong. The woman was tall, nearly as tall as a man, with muscles that shifted under her smooth alabaster skin like snakes. Her face was angular and hard, and her breasts were small, but as round and firm as a pair of apples. Lora could count the muscles of her abdomen, and the part of the pool in which she stood was just deep enough that the V of her pelvis was cut off just far down enough to hide her womanhood.

Sif.

_ Double shit _ .

The warrior woman stepped away from her fellows and approached Lora, who resisted the urge to shrink back in the water and swim away as fast as a tail could take her. Instead, she lowered her head in—what she hoped—was a cowed-enough pose that Sif would take pity. Not that she would, of course; Lora knew that quite well. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I would be intruding—” she began, backing up slightly.

“Who are you?” Sif repeated. She stepped closer, and Lora lowered her head almost to her chest in an attempt to appear submissive.

“I’m—I’m Lora, just a woman who has travelled far to come bathe in this pool. Please, please don’t hurt me,” she begged.

“Your speech is strange,” the warrior said harshly. “Look me in the eye when you speak to me.”

Swallowing hard against the panic rising up within her chest, Lora raised her face.

Sif’s dark eyes swept over Lora’s face, then locked in on her clear, blue eyes. Hers flew open wide, and then narrowed into an angry glare. “You—!” she hissed, clenching her fists. She reached out to Lora.

But Lora was already dashing away, her feet slipping on the rocks. She almost plunged face-first into the water, and shook her head. She was already given away; she’d been a fool to think she could outwit Sif, companion of Thor. She’d lost the moment she was spotted.

But,  _ oh _ , those Valkyries…

She regained her balance and leapt from the water as the call to arms rose behind her. Dripping wet, her arms shifted into a pair of wings, her lean female body tightened and sprouted feathers, and her feet became talons. She shed water as she rose into the air a falcon.

Below, amidst the screams and scrambling bodies and the roar of the falls the bird heard Sif cry, “ _ LOKI! _ ”


	2. Chapter 2

There was a reason Loki kept a house in the far north of Canada, and it was specifically for this purpose: retreat. His pranks were legendary and he knew it, but he also knew that sometimes…well, not everyone appreciated them as much as he himself did. And while a visit to the Valkyrie pool on Asgard wasn’t perhaps a prank so much as a treat (for himself, at least), it certainly warranted a few years of lying low.

_ But it was worth it _ , he grinned to himself as he removed dust cloths from furniture and threw open curtains. Sure, it meant that he owed Heimdall a huge favor for opening the Bifröst for him and an even bigger favor for turning Sif off his scent, but it was still definitely worth it. It would be a long time before he managed to get bored of all of those lovely ladies in his memory.

He stood before the huge picture window in his living room and looked out over the sparkling expanse of snow beyond the double-paned glass. It was remote, which appealed to his desire for privacy, and cold, which appealed to some deep-set inner need he’d never quite understood. Not that it particularly mattered one way or another; he was Loki Odinsson, brother to Thor and one of the heirs to the throne of Asgard.

“Not that I’ll take it, though,” he admitted to himself out loud. “Sit on a throne all day and see to the needs of a bunch of whiny commoners? Lead troops into battle? Have my actions and whereabouts accounted for at all times in case someone decides that I’m not strong enough to lead? Only a fool would be so childish as to desire such a thing. Let Thor take over. It’ll leave me more time for my own pursuits.” He grinned at the thought.

He wandered into the kitchen and opened the rucksack he’d thrown on the table. All of his furniture was a remnant of his time among the Vikings, lovingly preserved by the icy climes and a spell of sleep he wove upon the house in his absence: the table, with its dragon-themed scroll work; the intricately carved wooden chests that held food, clothing, and everything else he needed; the high-backed benches near the fireplace. He’d acquired an iron stove during his last visit sixty years earlier, and he’d picked up a small generator for the house this time to replace the one that had broken during his previous visit. It hadn’t been easy; apparently the humans were in the midst of one of their silly little squabbles again, and such things were rationed fairly heavily. Posing as a general in need of supplies had done the trick, and he’d even managed to wrangle some extra gasoline to power it. Momentarily he pitied the poor schmuck who’d get court-martialed for it, but it wasn’t his fault if the soldier hadn’t read General Louis Kennison’s credentials too closely.

The result of all of this was that he had a nice fire blazing in the stove and electric lights glowing merrily in the short Arctic day. Unpacking the rucksack, he put away the supplies he’d brought from Asgard: one of Thor’s endless drinking horns, some self-replicating boar steak from Valhalla’s kitchen, and, tucked in a hand-woven bag all their own, three precious apples from Idun’s orchard. They glowed warmly in the light, and he kissed their perfect skin lightly before tucking them into one of the chests. He hung the horn on a hook by the window, where the mead would be pleasantly chilled. The meat he divided between a cast-iron pan he pulled from a hook on the wall and a chest he kept outside on the porch for keeping things cold.

As he was outside, he heard a huge roar above him. He ducked beneath the overhang, hoping that Sif hadn’t found him so quickly and knowing he’d be in deep trouble if she had. Peeking out from the shadows, though, he saw a heavy-bellied plane soaring overhead. Smoke flowed behind it like a black tail, and from the angle it flew it was going to crash.

_ So much for my privacy _ , Loki thought. He sighed and looked back at the merry inside of his house. As much as he wished to go back in and slam the door tight, he knew from experience that any survivors would find their way to his door and beg for sustenance and assistance and all other kinds of -ances he wasn’t prepared—or willing—to provide. No, it would be best to go see to the deaths of the passengers now rather than in the middle of the night, where someone might know that there actually  _ were _ survivors. Loki cracked his knuckles, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

In a moment he was standing aboard the shuddering deck of the airplane. He braced himself against one of the walls, struggling for balance, and readied his dagger. It wasn’t a passenger plane, he could tell; rather, this seemed like some massive cargo jet. There were bodies in brown uniforms strewn about the floor, their blood drying in puddles and splashes. Carefully, so as to not dirty his boots, Loki stepped over them and made his way to the cockpit. Inside he could hear someone, a man, talking. A woman’s voice crackled in reply.

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance,” the man said.

“All right. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it,” he said.  Loki opened the door slightly and looked in. Through the glass nose of the plane he could see the icy expanse of the Arctic rising up to meet them.

“Eight-o-clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late,” the woman ordered in a thick voice. “Understood?”

“Y’know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow.”

Loki rolled his eyes at the drivel the people were spouting. The ground was rushing up to meet the plane, and he could tell from the angle of it that this sappy stranger wasn’t about to survive. That meant it was time for him to leave. He fighting gravity, he braced himself to teleport back to his house.

“I’d hate to step on your—“

And that’s when Loki dropped his knife.

The man whirled around in his chair, his elbow hitting the switch on the console. The popping of the communications radio vanished, leaving the only sounds the thrum of the engines below and the Asgardian’s heartbeat in his ears.

The man was beautiful, so intensely, brilliantly, vibrantly beautiful that it was almost painful to see. His eyes were blue, but not the chips of ice of Loki himself or the deep, endless ocean of Thor, but rather the clean, pure blue of an autumn sky. His silky hair was the color of one of Idun’s apples, and it almost had the same pure glow. The ears were perhaps a bit large, but they suited his strong jaw and firm chin. His face was smudged with dirt and there was a cut on his lower lip, but that only added to his rugged attractiveness. Everything about him could put Balder to shame.

“Jiminy Christmas!” the man exclaimed, seeing Loki. “What are you doing here?”

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“You’ve gotta get out of here! I’m crashing this plane right now!”

The Asgardian tore his eyes from the stranger’s face and saw the snowy ground rushing up to meet them. Without a second thought, he raced forward, grabbed the stranger’s hand, and teleported out of the plane.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki sat silently at the stranger’s bedside. Night had fallen over the ice fields, though if he looked out the window, he could still see the faint glow of the burning plane. However, all of his attention was focused on the breathing of the man under the covers.

The Asgardian had forgotten how traumatic teleportation could be, especially without any warning. Even now, after centuries of traveling that way, he still sometimes felt queasy after a long jump. He was just glad he’d actually managed to bring the stranger with him.

The man stirred on the bed, and Loki resisted the urge to lean forward and stare. Instead, he sat back on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest in the most nonchalant pose he could muster. He watched the dark lashes flutter on his sharp cheekbones, and his heart skipped a beat as the lids opened to reveal those depthless blue eyes. They darted back and forth, taking in the brightly-lit cabin, and then finally landed on Loki himself.

“Where am I?” asked the man in a voice phlegmy with sleep.

“In my cabin,” Loki replied, forcing his attention on his fingernails.

“And where might that be?”

“Up in the Arctic. Canada, I believe, though I recognize no man’s sovereignty.” The Asgardian examined a torn cuticle and blew on it; the skin repaired itself instantly. “And who might you be?”

“Canada…” the man sat up suddenly, throwing off the blankets and revealing a muscular, tanned torso. “Peggy!” He stood up and looked around. “Where’s my shirt? I need to get to New York!”

Loki did his best not to stare, opting instead to shrug. “Your shirt was torn and charred, so I threw it away. I have some spare clothes, though, if you’d like to wear them.” He failed to mention how he’d ripped the fabric with shaking hands as he’d attempted to undress the stranger. The charring had come from him burning the rags, unable to mend the fabric with his magic. As for the pants…well, he’d been dying to see what was underneath, but his hands were so shaky at the thought that he decided not to risk injuring the poor man and marring his beauty.

He wasn’t a  _ complete  _ cad.

The man shook his head and looked around. “Fine, I’ll borrow them. But I have to get to New York. Where’s the nearest town? Or military base, that will work, too. I can get a ride from there.”

Loki shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “I’m the only one around for miles.”

“Then let me use your car or whatever. Take me there, and I’ll see that you’re paid for your help.”

“No car, unfortunately,” Loki said. He stood up. “And in this weather, a sled and some dogs would be more useful anyway. No, I’m sorry, but you are stuck here. Your aircraft is gone, so you can’t even fly—even if you were able to find a suitable surface to take off.”

“My aircraft…” the stranger repeated. “You mean, my plane?” He looked around. “Wait, you were on it. How did you get out? How did you get  _ me _ out?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Asgardian said, standing. “I saw your craft crash, and I rushed to the site to see what was happening. I found you lying on the snow, and just as I was removing you from the scene, there was an explosion. I’m sure you had a blow to the head and you are just imagining me being on your plane.”

“Maybe,” the man said, but he didn’t sound convinced. He sat down on the bed again. 

Loki walked to one of the chests, his back to the stranger. “My stove puts out quite a bit of heat, but here are some clothes for you. They’re likely warmer than what you were wearing.” He  turned around and held out a bundle he’d conjured from thin air. “Would you like something to eat? I have food.”

The man pulled on the billowy sage-green tunic and adjusted the split collar over his broad chest. He turned away from Loki’s gaze and dropped his trousers in favor of the warmer woolen ones from the bundle. When he bent to tug them upwards, the Asgardian caught a flash of white cotton shorts. He forced the blush from his cheeks with a bit of magic.

“Food?” the stranger was saying. “What kind of food do you get up here, if you’re so far away from everything?”

“I’ve got whatever you’d like,” Loki heard himself saying, his mind still on the man’s muscular calves. As soon as he realized what he’d said, though, he wanted to kick himself; after all, he couldn’t just create something with magic that he couldn’t obviously procure up here in the Arctic, as the man had pointed out.

“Could I get a burger?” he asked.

“No, I’m afraid I have none of these burgers,” Loki replied.

“How about chop suey?”

“I don’t…no, I have nothing like that here.”

“Popcorn and a soda?”

Loki blinked. “Excuse me?”

The man shook his head. “Look, I’m grateful for the clothes and everything, and I’m the one imposing on you like this. I’m in no position to ask for anything you might not have—or even have heard about, apparently. Just…whatever you’re willing to share I’ll be grateful for.”

The Asgardian went to the table, where the piece of boar meat he’d saved was sitting in the pan. He’d forgotten it in the hassle with the stranger’s airplane, but he also knew it wouldn’t spoil so easily, being of Valhalla as it was. The piece was already small; in order to continue appearing, there always needed to be at least ten ounces left. He’d taken a pound, so the steak was only six ounces. Loki didn’t get hungry easily or often, so he’d expected to prepare this steak for his meal and allow the rest to replicate. However, after finding the man he wasn’t particularly hungry— _ Not for food, anyway _ , he thought to himself and remembering the chiseled abdomen and toned thighs.

Now, though, he fed the fire and set the pan on the stove. “I have steak.”

“Really? You have steak?” the man’s voice was incredulous. His footsteps thumped on the wooden cabin floor, and the wooden bench at the table creaked as the man took a seat. “Real steak? How’d you manage that?”

“I hunt,” Loki lied smoothly. He flipped the meat over in the pan, the juices sending up their tantalizing aroma, the sizzle of fat a welcome chorus. “It’s not cow, but it’s still steak.”

“It’s still steak,” the stranger agreed.

After a few more minutes, Loki put the pan in front of the stranger. From another chest he pulled out a fork and knife, saying, “Careful. It’s hot.”

The man tore into the food ravenously, and before long he was licking the last of the juices from his fork. Loki had just watched him the entire time, a glow of pride in his chest that he’d managed to satisfy the handsome stranger. “That was delicious,” he said. There was an odd lilt to the last word that made Loki sit up.

“It was?” he asked.

“It was,” the man repeated. He looked around the kitchen with no little bit of longing.

“Um…may I help you?”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry. My metabolism is strange. It works faster than normal, so sometimes…” he hung his head.

“You’re still hungry,” Loki said, finally catching on. He wanted to kick himself for rescuing the stranger, even if he was gorgeous.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” the man said, holding up his hands. “I’ll be fine. You’re already kind enough to help me out, I can’t expect you to use up all your stores on me.”

But Loki was already crouched over by the chest near the stove. He wasn’t about to risk the giving him Thor’s drinking horn, since it’d raise too many questions—most important being, of course, “How in Hela’s name does it never empty?”—and he couldn’t risk any more of the meat, since there was only a certain amount. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could conjure up that would possibly exist this far out of civilization, and whether anything he conjured would even taste right or have nutritional value. He sighed and reached for the pouch of apples.

He’d brought two, one for each year he’d likely be on Midgard before he risked going back.  _ But I might be able to handle one year, if I skulk around and avoid Sif _ , he thought to himself.  _ But only one. I need the other. Maybe I could actually go hunting or something…or just knock him out long enough to teleport somewhere for groceries. _

He held the golden apple in his palm and closed the chest. “This is the last one I have,” he said, returning to the table.

“Then I can’t take it,” the man said, shaking his head violently. “I don’t want to eat you out of house and home!”

“Oh, no, I have some in jars and such,” Loki said lightly, making a mental note to find some applesauce when he went out. “But you’re hungry and you’re my guest. I’m a little tired of apples, to be honest,” he laughed. “Please, take it.”

The man shrugged and took the fruit. “I’ll repay you as soon as I can,” he promised.

“Well, tell me your name and we can begin to call it even.” Loki leaned forward in anticipation.

“Steven—Steve—Rogers.” The man raised the apple to his lips and bit. “Wow, this is amazing.”

“I know,” Loki said absently, mulling over the man’s name. It somehow seemed to fit him. “Steve,” he murmured. “Well, Steve, I’m Lo—Loki.” For a moment he wavered on giving his real name, but he realized he’d never be able to keep up the charade, and if the man would be staying for a long time (and Loki certainly hoped he would be), then he should know at least a morsel of truth.

“Loki? Weird name. But then, I don’t know much about this corner of the world, so that could just be how you are all named around here.” He chewed the last bite of apple and looked around for a place to put the core.

“Here, I’ll take it. Perhaps you should go lie down and take a nap.” Looking into Steve’s eyes, Loki sent a suggestion of exhaustion to him.

For a long moment, he wasn’t sure if it had worked; the man looked at him like he was nuts. Finally, he yawned hugely, revealing twin rows of perfect, pearly teeth. “I am sort of tired, actually,” Steve admitted. “I guess it’s been a busy day.”

“It has,” Loki agreed. “Feel free to use the bed. I can sleep on the floor.”

Steve looked like he was about to protest, but Loki stood and walked around the table to his side. “Come now, you need some rest, and the bed is comfortable.” Gently he led the yawning man over to the bed. The Asgardian ignored the fluttering in his chest as he touched his guest, instead drawing the covers over him and adjusting the pillow beneath his head. “There,” he said softly. “Sweet dreams, Steve.”

“Sweet…” the man began, but he was asleep before he could say anything else.

Loki stared at him for a long moment: the dark lashes on sharp cheekbones, the soft relaxation of his pink lips, the slight flaring of his nostrils as he breathed, the way his golden hair flipped lightly over his forehead…it had been years, no,  _ centuries _ since anything had held him so entranced. The Valkyries were stunning, of course, and his brother’s companion Fandral had a sort of swashbuckler allure, which had led to some interesting nights. However, there was something about this man, this Steven Rogers, that enticed Loki in a way far beyond any he’d previously experienced. He suddenly felt the urge to settle down, to take up whatever mantle Odin might lay upon his shoulders, if only he could come home each day to this man in his arms.

Quickly the Asgardian shook his head. _Don’t be foolish_ , he chastised himself. _You know nothing of this man or his life. It could be that you’d grow bored after a month, and then where would you be? You’ve scarcely met him. This is simple lust and nothing more_.

To distract himself from the idiocy he was feeling, Loki began straightening up the room. As he was picking up Steve’s discarded pants from the floor a small, black book fell out of one of the pockets. “Hmm?” he said. Dropping the pants, he took a seat in the chair by the bed.

The book appeared to be a sort of hybrid journal and sketchbook. The date at the top of the first entry was for 1943, and throughout Steve had recorded information about his missions, his thoughts about becoming a sort of “super soldier” and, subsequently, a hero named “Captain America.” Reading the entries Loki was stunned; although this man had killed people in the line of duty, he expressed his remorse for it. Steve described a special operations team he had created with his best friend, and his budding friendship with a young, British officer. Loki turned the page and saw drawings of both: a tall, ruddy-faced, dark-haired military man labeled “Bucky” and a full-lipped, large-eyed woman with wavy brown hair labeled “Peggy.”

Loki was still studying the images when he heard Steve say, “Give me that!”

“Huh?” the Asgardian asked, tearing his eyes from the page.

“Give me that book!” Steve reached up and ripped the volume from Loki’s hands. “This is mine. Never, ever touch it. How dare you go through someone else’s private things!”

“I didn’t know it was private,” Loki said, taken aback at his guest’s sudden outburst. “Maybe you should consider writing that on the outside.”

“I shouldn’t have to! It’s mine. I know it’s mine. Everyone knows it’s mine. It’s common courtesy to keep your hands off someone else’s stuff.” Angrily, Steve began flipping through the book to ensure everything was in order.

“Well, obviously not everyone knows it’s yours,” the Asgardian replied with a huff. “It fell out of your pocket. I picked it up to see if it was important. If it wasn’t, I was going to put it with the garbage.”

“If it fell out of my pocket and you  _ know _ it fell out of my pocket, then how did you think it could be garbage? How could you mistake it for someone else’s stuff— _ your  _ stuff, since you’re the only one out this way, according to you.”

Ire filled Loki, and he could feel it burning deep in his gut. No handsome face could be worth such—

He rose to his feet and stomped to the door.

“Where are you going? I’m not done yelling at you yet!” Steve shouted from the bed.

“Hunting!” Loki grabbed his cape from its hook, fastened it on with a flourish, and stomped out into the icy Arctic night.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as he was out of sight of the house, Loki teleported. He didn’t really have a destination in mind; in fact, he would not have been surprised to have appeared back on Asgard, willingly turning himself over to whatever punishment Sif could create. As for Steve back in the cabin, he could rot there. Maybe he’d be stupid and eat all of the boar and then starve. Maybe he’d drink himself into a stupor using Thor’s drinking horn. Maybe he’d leave the cabin and get eaten by a moose.

Right now, Loki liked the mental image of Steve being eaten by a moose.

Instead of someplace remote, though, Loki found himself deep within the vault of a major bank. He stood still for a moment, blinking in the dim light reflecting off of dull steel walls. Stacks of paper money and sacks of coins were all neatly organized on wire racks, each pile marked off with a paper enumerating the amount it contained. He stepped forward and thumbed through one of the piles. No alarm or anything went off as he touched the money, and he was happy to see that the stacks weren’t just large bills; there were plenty of piles with ones and fives, as well. He grabbed a stack of fives and thrust it into a pouch on his belt. Without a word, he teleported again.

This time he appeared in a grocery store—Alaska, according to the papers on the walls. He grabbed himself a basket and wandered around, selecting things at random, things that might be suitable groceries for a guest. He was still angry at Steve, and he acknowledged this as he picked some of the most disgusting canned goods from the shelf ( _ Who would willingly eat canned green beans?  _ he wondered), but he also didn’t want to starve. Besides that, Loki knew in the back of his mind that he wasn’t angry at Steve’s reaction, but rather that he’d gotten caught. It’d been years since he’d been caught.

At the butcher counter he ordered as much game as the man would sell him, claiming he had a sled just outside and that he was stronger than his scrawny frame might indicate. He knew logically that he could take down a dozen polar bears without breaking a sweat, but he also recognized that he’d have no clue how to butcher them. From the look of the man in his cabin and what he’d managed to read in the journal, Steve would do no better.

No, it definitely made sense to get his meat ready-cut.

Loki paid for the purchases with a wad of cash and, slinging the packages over his shoulder, walked out of town to teleport.

Before he walked into the cabin, he went and peeked in one of the side windows. It wouldn’t do for Steve to see him returning with prepackaged food and canned goods; otherwise, he’d assume that Loki had been lying about being able to leave. While technically Loki had been correct—there were no cars or planes or anything out from the cabin—the Asgardian was fairly certain that his guest wouldn’t appreciate the subtle difference.

He conjured up a bunch of bottles and quickly filled them with the contents of the cans. For the meat he just left it in its paper wrappings, since he’d be the one going out and getting whatever he needed from the chest on the porch. Cans might be obvious, but paper could be burned in the stove.

Loki buried the cans in a nearby snowbank, froze it over with a layer of ice, and walked into the cabin.

He didn’t get far before he heard the voice. Steve was sitting on the bed, the book open in his hands. “Bucky…” he murmured, so soft that Loki wasn’t sure he’d actually heard correctly. “Bucky, what am I gonna do out here? I promised Peggy I’d be there next week, but I’m trapped. What would you do if you were here? I have to get back to tell her…”

The words trailed off, despite Loki straining to hear them. Who was this Peggy person, outside of the girl from Steve’s book? And what was she to Steve? In the drawing she’d had the same steely gaze as Sif, and the same ramrod-straight spine and confidence, too. Loki could understand the appeal; he’d been tempted by Sif often enough, despite her uncanny ability to see through his every trick.

Maybe Steve wouldn’t be quite so observant.

Loki closed his eyes and transformed.

“Tell me what, Steve?” he asked, the female voice coming out in a crisp English accent. He resisted the urge to touch himself and make sure everything was properly in place; working off a drawing usually meant something would be out of proportion.

The way his guest was looking at him, though, meant that Loki must have made a convincing disguise.

“P-Peggy?” Steve stammered, standing up quickly. “How—what are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,” Loki said, stepping forward. He forced himself to stay steady and thanked the stars for all the time he’d spent practicing wearing heels. He opened his arms. “Your plane gave off a signal right before it crashed, and we’ve been doing flyovers trying to find you.

The man walked over somehow unsteadily and grabbed Loki in his arms. Steve buried his nose in Loki’s hair, inhaling deeply, and said, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again.”

“Well, I’m here,” Loki said cheerfully, the accent ringing pleasantly in his ears. “And we’re all alone…” He glanced meaningfully over at the rumpled bed.

Steve pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length, and narrowed his eyes. “You came alone?”

“Of course I did. Who would I bring? Most of the others are all fighting.”

“Stark’s not here? Who brought you, then?”

“I brought myself.” Loki swallowed hard. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

The man’s grip tightened like vises on Loki’s upper arms. “Peggy Carter can’t fly a plane,” he said through gritted teeth. “So who are you?”

Loki sighed and returned to his normal form. “It’s me.”

Steve jerked back and practically fell onto the bed. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you?!”

“I’m me,” Loki said. He changed back into Peggy. “And I’m her, when I want to be.” He concentrated on Steve and changed into him. “I can be you, too.” He blinked. “I can be Bucky, too, if you want me to be.”

“No, stop,” the other man said, his words coming out in a half-strangled gasp. “I get it.”

Loki returned to his own form. “I’m sorry to trick you,” he said and, startled, realized it was true. Seeing the tears in Steve’s beautiful eyes tore at something fundamental inside of himself, and he wanted nothing more than to take back what he’d done, to erase the cause of those tears. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You should be,” Steve said, turning away, voice thick. “I don’t think you understand how terrible you are.”

Loki shook his head. “You’re welcome to tell me, then. Sometimes I need to hear it. My brother tells me I need to learn ‘compassion.’ Maybe you can help.” He sat down in the chair by the bed.

Steve sniffed hard, facing the wall. “Peggy Carter is a good friend I made when I was fighting. She’s the first girl I’ve ever been able to talk to and the first girl to ever see me as something more than just a weak little kid. Bucky Barnes was my best friend. He and his family looked out for me when my parents died. When the war broke out, he joined up. He didn’t want me to keep trying to join, but when I finally managed to and saved him from the Nazis, we fought together to save the world. He…I couldn’t save him on that train. We were in Russia, and he fell, and I couldn’t save him. He was…he’s like my brother.”

Loki nodded. Though he and Thor had gotten into more—and bigger—arguments over the years than anyone else he could think of, he couldn’t imagine losing his brother. And as for Peggy… “Are you in love with her?” Loki asked. “Is that why you want to see her?”

The man turned his head, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What kind of question is that?”

The Asgardian shrugged. “I was just wondering. If you’re in love with her, then that’d explain why you’re upset about her. I mean, Bucky I can understand. But her?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in love with her or not, or if she’s in love with me. She’s my  _ friend _ , not some lover or something like that. I made her a promise, and I don’t want to let her down. That’s why I want to see her.  __ I don’t want to break a promise to a friend.”

Shaking his head, Loki said, “I guess…I’m still sorry, though.”

“You should be.” Steve said. He tucked his head close to his chest and began to weep.

A spark of an idea flashed in Loki’s head, and he reached forward. With one finger he touched Steve’s shoulder and whispered, “Sleep for now.”

When he was sure the sobs had become snores, Loki stood and headed for the door. He knew exactly what he needed to do.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as he was out of sight of his cabin, Loki shouted to the sky, “Heimdall! Return me to Asgard!”

A flash of light like a thousand auroras surrounded him, enveloping him in their luminescence. He felt himself thin and stretch, dissolving into a thousand pieces. It was agony and brilliance all at once, a oneness with time and space yet disconnected from every being there ever has been or ever will be. It was like no other sensation he’d ever experienced, travelling the Bifröst, and each time was exactly as terrifying and thrilling as his first.

In an eternity and a moment, he appeared before the guardian of the gate, Heimdall. “A brief sojourn for one as eager as you to leave, Loki,” he said, his eyes gazing far into the distance. “I believed it would be quite some time before you called upon me once more.”

“As did I, Heimdall, but I need your assistance once more.” Loki spoke in the more formal Asgardian manner, bowing low before the watchman.

“You owe me two favors as yet, second son of Odin. I doubt the wisdom of a third.”

Loki stood straight again and shook his head. “It is not for my sake that I ask, Heimdall, but for the sake of a man who I rescued. You see all that happens in the Nine Realms. Pray turn your gaze to the land of Russia on Midgard that we may find he who I seek.”

“To what purpose should I do your bidding, Loki?” Heimdall asked, his sonorous voice betraying no emotion.

“The purpose of—” Loki began, but before he could say any more he heard footsteps thundering behind him, followed by the tapping of heels on the golden steps leading to Bifröst’s gate.

“Loki Odinsson!” a male voice cried. Loki found himself swept up in a pair of muscular arms, held up off the ground like a rag doll.

“Thor,” Loki managed to wheeze as his brother squeezed him tight. “Wonderful to see you again.”

Thor turned, and Loki saw Sif standing not five feet away—the source of the tapping, he assumed. He fought the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as his brother said, “I have caught him for you, Lady Sif. What would you have me do with this churlish boy who disgraced you so severely?”

The hard-faced woman tapped her lips with one finger. “Perhaps we should force him to be our servant for a few years. He could bring us wine and food and be at our beck and call. That should teach him to behave himself and remain in his true form.”

“It shall be as you wish, my lady.” Thor, still clutching Loki tightly to his chest, began walking towards the door.

“Wait!” Loki gasped, struggling against his brother’s grip. “Please, you must not do this to me!”

“We most certainly should,” Sif said with a disdainful sniff. “It is no less than you deserve, given your crimes.”

“Are they really crimes, though?” he protested. “All I did was sneak into the women’s bath to see what it was like. I laid no finger on any bather! I swear!”

“You spied on us as we were cleansing ourselves for our sacred rituals. You posed as a woman to make them trust you. Odin can only guess what mischief you might have gotten up to had I not discovered you there! In the future, you will have better judgment, I’m sure.”

Loki shook his head. “I made a mistake. I ought not have done that. But please, allow me to fulfill this single errand before I submit myself to whatever punishment you deem necessary. Please, I just need this one thing. One thing, I promise.”

Sif kept walking, but Thor slowed. “What is this all-important ‘one thing’ you speak of, brother?”

Loki took a deep breath, or at least as deep as his brother’s grasp allowed. “There is a man—”

“Ah, a man this time, is it? You really do not care whose loins you inflame, do you, Loki?” Sif laughed scornfully.

“There is a man,” Loki repeated more loudly, “whose life I saved as his aircraft plummeted to the surface of Midgard. Rather than allow him to die, I saved him. Now I have found he longs for the company of his childhood companion, who he believes lost. As I have access to one who could find this friend (and due to a minor miscalculation on my own part), I believe I owe this man who I rescued an answer to the question of his friend’s continued existence.” Loki bowed his head in submission. “Allow me the time to discover the truth, and I will serve you both as you will. Or, if this man I rescued is correct in assuming his friend’s death, allow me briefly to return to him and take him to those other companions who would see him again.”

Sif looked as if she’d eaten a lemon, all puckered and sour, but Thor gently lowered his brother to the ground. “You do this for another and not for yourself. This selflessness is unusual for you, brother, but should be rewarded all the more for its rarity.”

“You’re not actually going to let him go, are you, Thor?” Sif cried. “Your brother lies all the time—one can trust almost nothing that pours from his mouth!”

“In this one instance I can see he is telling the truth. If you doubt him, allow us to ask Heimdall, here, who must have been privy to all that occurred with my wayward kin.” Thor turned towards the gatekeeper. “Am I not correct?”

“I have seen your brother’s doings on Midgard, yes, and he did return to seek yet another favor from me. It is as he says: he rescued a young human by the name of Steve Rogers from his crashing craft and certain death. He has fed him boar from Valhalla and a golden apple from the orchard of Idun and allows him to sleep unaccosted in his own bed. He sleeps there still, slumbering peacefully under a spell which Loki cast to aid him in pleasant dreaming.”

Both Thor and Sif stared wide-eyed at Loki, who lowered his head and blushed sheepishly.

“You fed him fare from Asgard’s tables?” Sif exclaimed. “Fare you stole, might I add, which may have terrible repercussions on the mortals of Midgard!”

“Come now, Lady Sif, I know you, too, have shared repast with those not of our realm,” Thor said gently. This gentleman is a guest at my brother’s table, and thus it is only sensible that he dines the same as he.” Thor turned back to Loki. “What of this friend of your guest? You seek him, do you not? Heimdall, what can you tell my brother of this man?”

Heimdall nodded. “The name of the mortal who you seek, Loki Odinsson.”

Loki swallowed hard. “It’s…Bucky. Bucky Barnes. I don’t know if that’s a nickname; it is odd, even for mortals. However, it is the name by which my guest knows him.”

The eyes of the gatekeeper stared off into the distance, searching the Nine Realms for the correct man. After several minutes, just as Loki started worrying Steve had been right, that Bucky was dead, Heimdall said, “He resides in the land of Russia, as you had believed.”

“He’s alive?” Loki asked, almost shouting with joy. “Where in this Russia might he be found?”

“There is a base in the snow, surrounded by trees. It lies in the western portion of the country. He is injured and has been ill-treated by his captors. It would seem they are trying to turn him into something he is not, a cruel and twisted monster.”

Loki nodded. “Then all the more reason to return him to my guest, whose friendship will surely reverse the damage.” He stepped forward. “Return me to Midgard at once, that I might reunite them with a glad heart!”

“You cannot be serious, Thor, in allowing him to make this journey!” Sif protested.

“If you do not trust me, my dear lady, then join me in my quest. You can come along as a flea or something of the sort and watch me at every turn. Should I deceive my guest at any important moment, then you may add on another year to my sentence.” Loki held out his hand.

Sif looked from Loki to Thor. Finally, she sighed. “I suppose I shall if I have no other option. Thor, will you join me?”

“I shall!” the larger brother exclaimed. He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Loki concentrated on the pair and they shrank down until they were no larger than a pair of mice. He allowed them to climb into the pouch at his waist and, when they were situated, he told them, “Remember, this is my quest. Allow me to assist my friend without interfering.”

He heard them both shout, “Agreed!”

Loki nodded to Heimdall and braced himself for the return trip to Midgard.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was still curled up on his side sleeping when Loki entered the cabin. The Asgardian left his cape on but went to kneel at the bedside of the sleeping man. In sleep he was so peaceful and angelic that Loki hated to wake him, but he hoped the news he brought would result in happy tears. He waited a full minute before touching the man’s arm and whispering, “Steve?”

The guest woke with a start, and once more Loki was taken aback by the blue of his eyes. He swallowed hard and said, “I’m sorry to wake you, Steve, but I have news!”

“What?” the man asked warily.

Loki grinned. “I found your friend.”

“Peggy’s on her way to New York. I know this.” He rolled over again and closed his eyes.

“Not her. Your other friend.”

Steve opened one eye.

“I found Bucky.”

Now he opened both eyes, but they were guarded, like an impenetrable steel wall had slammed own over the thoughts buried within. “What did you say?”

“I found Bucky,” Loki repeated, smiling hugely. “I know where he is. He’s in an army base in a place called Russia. I can take you there. We can rescue him, and then I’ll return you to New York to be with your Peggy.” He tried his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice at the last.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, his face unreadable. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because…” Loki, the silver-tongued Asgardian, searched his brain to find the words to convince the handsome man in his bed that he was being genuine. Something that he would actually believe, something he wouldn’t question. Nothing but the truth came to mind. “Because…I want to see you smile.”

The guest blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“All right, I’ll admit it. I was on the plane yesterday with you,” Loki said. He wanted to look away as he said this, but he forced himself to keep staring into those lovely eyes which lay so coldly upon him. “I teleported there because I didn’t want to be swarmed with survivors. But I only found you there, piloting the plane and talking to a woman about dancing as you prepared to die. I got you out of there at the last second because I wanted to protect you. Someone who is that strong, who faces death so bravely…I thought the world couldn’t afford to lose you.” As he said this, Loki realized that he really  _ was  _ telling the truth. The man was gorgeous, true, and that had been the initial appeal, but Loki knew that the man before him, this Steven Rogers, was everything that Loki himself was not: he was selfless and honest and… _ real _ . Real in a way that Loki worried he could never be. He swallowed against the trembling he felt in his chest. “I want to make you happy. I read your book because I wanted to get to know you, and I transformed into your friend because I thought you’d be glad. But…I was wrong. And now I want to make it up to you. I swear, I found your Bucky. Once you’re reunited, I’ll take you to your Peggy. You can be happy together, all three of you. And maybe, even if it’s not at me, maybe I’ll get to see you smile.”

The stress of saying all of this aloud, of telling such a deep and personal truth, left Loki feeling slightly sick and incredibly exhausted, but he saw the wall in Steve’s eyes start to come down, just a little. “Do you believe me?” he asked in a small voice, hoping that he hadn’t told the truth just to be shunned.

Slowly, Steve said, “If you are lying to me, Loki, I swear to God—”

“If I’m lying, I will let you kill me yourself,” Loki said firmly.

Steve, jaw set, pushed the blankets off his body and stood up. “Where do we go?”


	7. Chapter 7

A coniferous forest shrouded in snow surrounded the army base. Tracks and runners cut through the top layer on what appeared to be a rudimentary road, if the lack of trees on the center of the path were any indication. Set on a ridge above this path were guard towers with white-uniformed guards at each post. There wasn’t a wall around the base so much as a simple fence, and a pair of guards with machine guns stood by. Most of the buildings seemed to be simple wooden cabins not unlike the one in which Loki stayed during his time on Midgard, and he knew that somewhere, in one of those buildings, Steve’s friend was being held.

Surveying the scene, Loki began trying to formulate a plan. Beside him, Steve whispered, “We should try to find a less-secure point. Without my shield, it will be difficult to get out of trouble.”

Loki turned and looked at his companion. Teleporting this time was not as hard on Steve’s body, for which Loki was glad; he did not like the idea hauling Steve around in his pocket with Thor and Sif if he could avoid it. “What good’s a shield?”

“You’d be surprised.” Steve stood and snuck a little closer to the base.

Loki followed, and just in time—right as he moved, a sleigh drawn by a pair of horses and carrying crates of supplies went rushing by. The sleigh was stopped at the gate by the guards, and they began interrogating the driver about the contents. An inkling of a plan formed in his head, and he turned to Steve. “We’ll capture the sleigh when it leaves and return with more supplies, saying this is an extra load—wait!”

Steve was already crossing the distance between the forest and the base, ducking behind trees at regular intervals to hide from the guards’ sight.

“For the love of—!” Loki swore and took off after him.

As he ran, he wove a spell of concealment around himself and the impetuous man; they weren’t invisible by any stretch of the imagination, but they were…unremarkable. Unnoticeable. They could be seen, but they wouldn’t be remembered any more than a chair or a tree. It was a difficult charm to maintain, as it had to extend to any person who might see them—and animals were a completely different story altogether. Loki hoped that all of the base’s dogs were asleep in their kennels.

When he finally caught up with Steve outside of one of the cabins, Loki said, “What in Hela’s name do you think you were doing?”

“Quiet,” Steve said. “We’re in. Which building are they keeping Bucky in?”

The Asgardian bit back a dozen admonitions about lying low and avoiding reckless behavior and said instead, “That big one there is the officer’s quarters, according to the sign. If he’s anywhere it will likely be there.”

“You know Russian?”

“ _ Da _ .” Loki shrugged. “Midgardian languages are way more interesting than, say, guard duty on Vanaheim. One has to keep busy somehow.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and returned his attention to the two-story building in front of them. “How do we do this?”

Now it was Loki’s turn to show off. He concentrated and his clothes shifted to one of the army uniforms. A gun was slung over his back, and he held a pair of handcuffs in his hands. “You’re my prisoner.”

Steve turned and glared. “You’re betraying me?”

Loki rolled his eyes and took the man’s hand. “They’re an illusion. Il-lu-sion. Everyone else will see that you’re cuffed, but if we get in a tight spot—or when we find your friend—your hands are actually free. Are all of Midgard so dull?”

His companion looked at him warily, but offered out his wrists. “If this will get me Bucky…”

“And our deal stands. If I lie, you can kill me.” Loki snapped the cuffs on, and Steve tugged against them. One wrist passed through the “metal” like a switch through smoke. “Satisfied?”

In response Steve took the empty cuff and slid it back onto his wrist. “Let’s go.”

The guard at the door seemed a little surprised to find a soldier and his captive in front of him as Loki removed the “invisibility” spell. “What’s going on here? Who is this?” the guard asked in a sandpapery voice.

“A captive found roaming the woods. I am bringing him here to lock him up with the other,” Loki explained in perfect, unaccented Russian.

The guard looked them both up and down, and Loki began to sweat a bit. The struggle of maintaining so many wards and charms at once was starting to get to him, particularly after the stress of the past two days. Finally, the guard said, “Take him in. You know where to go.”

“Yes sir,” Loki said, glad to be moving again. A bit roughly he nudged Steve through the door.

The interior of the building was like an unlit closet after the brilliance of the sun on snow outside. Loki blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted, and he saw around him some basic furniture and a staircase leading upwards. In the corner, there was a bookshelf that seemed out of place. Just as he was about to go inspect it, a voice said, “Who are you?”

Loki turned and saw a man with scraggly dark hair unfold himself from the shadows. His eyes were hooded, haunted, and several weeks’-worth of beard painted his jaw and chin. His arms were thickly corded with muscle under the sleeveless shirt he wore. The man approached and entered a circle of lamplight.

In front of him, Steve gasped. “Bucky?” He tore his hands from the cuffs, destroying the illusion, and ran over to the scruffy stranger. “Bucky, is that really you?”

Bucky glared. “Who are you?”

This brought Steve up short. “It’s me, Bucky. Your friend. It’s Steve, remember?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know anyone by that name. All I see is two intruders who shouldn’t be here.” He reached out and grabbed Steve’s arm. “I’m going to stop you, and then I’m going to call the guards to take your worthless corpses out for the dogs.” With almost inhuman strength Bucky lifted Steve from the ground and threw him at the wall.

Time seemed to slow as Steve flew through the air, and Loki’s heart nearly stopped when the man’s head slammed into the corner of the rough-hewn desk in the corner. He whirled and faced Bucky. “You…!” He felt a chill flow through his veins, a river of ice turning his muscles into stone. “You were his best friend, and you do this?” Loki said quietly, his voice all the more terrifying for its hush.

The scruffy man laughed. “What is friendship? I’m here to do a job, and I’m going to do it however I have to.” Without another word, he rushed towards Loki.

But the Asgardian was prepared for the assault. He ducked to the side as Bucky barreled past, and he swept the man’s legs out from underneath him. Bucky slammed to the ground, and Loki was upon him, straddling his waist and pummeling the man with fists like blocks of ice. Bucky reached up and circled Loki’s throat with his left hand, the heel of it pressed against the Asgardian’s larynx, but Loki just smiled cruelly and gripped the man’s arm tightly.

To both their surprise, the skin began to turn blue, then black, the colors spreading quickly towards Bucky’s shoulder. The fingers holding Loki’s neck seemed to char, then burst into icy dust, and the rest of the arm began disintegrating in the same way.

Loki let go, clambering to his feet. He backed away quickly while the man writhed on the ground, screaming in agony. Outside, guards shouted orders and dogs barked raucously. The door slammed open and the entire base stood beyond it, their guns at the ready. Loki ducked and rolled, ending up beside Steve. He shook the man’s shoulder, but there was no response.

Under his head was a pool of blood.

Biting his lip, Loki gathered the man close to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut tight. Without so much as a flash, they vanished.


	8. Chapter 8

They reappeared in the cabin. Loki did his best to lift Steve to put him on the bed, but, being unconscious, the man was dead weight. He closed his eyes and channeled some of his magic power to his muscles and, with a combination of tugging and lifting, managed to lie him mostly on the mattress. His head wound continued to bleed, and Loki quailed seeing the pale grayness of Steve’s skin and the crimson stain spreading across the linen bedclothes.

He held out his hands and concentrated. “Heal,” he murmured. When he opened his eyes, however, there was no change. “Heal,” he said again, focusing all of his energy on the man before him. Loki’s fingertips glowed faintly green, but only for a brief moment. An unfamiliar feeling of panic was tight in his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. Splaying his fingers out so far his muscles screamed, he cried, “Heal! Heal, gods damn you! Heal!”

Blood continued to ooze from the wound.

With trembling hands the Asgardian fumbled at the pouch on his waist and shook out the mouse-sized Thor and Sif. “Brother, I need you!” he wailed. He muttered the counter-spell that made them both small, and then focused on the unconscious man in front of him.

Thor shook his head as if clearing it of fog and said, “What help can I give you?”

Loki looked up at his older brother. “Please, help me heal him. He was injured in the fight, and my magic is nearly spent. I have been too long without rest and the restful balm of Asgard’s winds. I…he’s going to die, Thor. He’s going to die, and it will be my fault.”

His brother stepped close and examined Steve’s body, then shook his head. “You might be too late. He appears close to his end, ready to join whatever afterlife awaits him.”

“No!” Loki stood and clenched his fists. “There must be something we can do! He can’t die!”

“He’s a mortal, and mortals were made to die,” Sif said coldly.

“Then help me get him to Asgard. Surely we have something there that can help,” Loki pleaded. “Then I’ll go back and get his friend, and I’ll punch the stupid out of him. I’ll make him remember! Or we can heal Steve and he can still see his other friend…”  _ Even if he is no longer with me _ , Loki thought, but he let this remain unsaid.

Before Thor could answer, Sif crossed her arms over her chest and said, “It’s not allowed. You know the laws. No mortal may visit Asgard. This is Odin’s rule, and there is no use fighting it. Your mortal dies here, or lives, as is decreed by the laws of nature. Perhaps if you had not spent so much of your time wasting your magic you would have enough now for a more useful purpose.”

Desperately Loki turned to Thor. “Tell me you’ll help me, my brother. Tell me we can save him.”

Thor heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Even I dare not defy our father and his commands. But perhaps if you still have something, one of the apples, you could try—”

Loki was at the chest in a moment, grabbing the pouch with the remaining apple in it. “I brought this.” He pulled out the shining fruit and held it to Steve’s lips. Lifting the man’s head gently and ignoring the blood smeared on his sleeve, he whispered, “Please, please eat. Just a bite to revive you, and that will be enough. Please, Steve.”

Nothing.

Shaking, Loki squeezed the apple with all of his might. Juice and pulp smeared his fingers and ran down his cuff. The Asgardian painted the unconscious man’s lips with the liquid, then parted his mouth so some would drip in. He held his breath counting down the seconds.

_ Please _ .

_ Please _ .

_ Please. _

Steve inhaled.

Color returned to his cheeks, and blood stopped flowing from the gash on his skull. His eyes, however, remained closed. Throwing the remains of the apple away, Loki gripped one of Steve’s hands in his and said a prayer of thanks to Idun and her glorious orchards.

But still he did not wake.

Loki felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into the shining eyes of Thor. “You must return with us, my brother. We must go back to Asgard that you might face your fate.”

“I can’t leave him until he wakes up,” Loki protested. “I promised him I’d get his friend back and that I’d take them to New York together. I  _ promised _ .”

“And it may have been the first sincere act in your life, my brother, but you have stolen from Asgard. You gave our food to a mortal. You risked his life, even though you meant no ill by it. And now he lies here, hovering between the world of the living and the world of the dead with no telling which he shall choose. Your magic is spent, and we have no recourse but to bring you back to Asgard ourselves.”

“It’s not fair!” Loki shouted, dropping Steve’s hand and standing. “The Elves come and go as they please, enjoying our hospitality as they will. Our mother herself comes from Vanir, as does your companion Hogun! They eat the food of Asgard all the time! Yet one innocent human from Midgard is ill and injured, and you would do nothing! What if we showed Hogun the same consideration? Would you send our mother out to die like this? What is so different between this situation and that?” Enraged, Loki grabbed Thor’s shirt in his clenched fists. “Tell me, damn you!”

Gently, Thor removed his brother’s hands. “Because Odin wills it so,” he said sadly. “As his subjects we must bow to his will.”

Loki turned back to Steve. Looking down at the beautiful, placid face, he murmured, “When I am king, that rule will be the first I change.” More loudly he said, “Allow me a moment with him. I will return to Asgard to face my punishment in an hour. Should I fail to return in that time, you may collect me and do unto me whatever you deem appropriate.” He knelt by the side of the bed, taking Steve’s hand in his once more. When he didn’t hear anyone move behind him, he added, “Please, for the sake of one who has never cared before.”

After a long moment, Thor said, “An hour.” His heavy footsteps were followed by the stern tapping of Sif’s boots on the hardwood floor. A chill night wind blew in, scattering snow about the room as they left.

Loki waited until he saw the flash of Heimdall’s bridge before he pressed Steve’s hand to his cheek. “I’m so sorry I broke my promise. I’ve been a monster to you. But I will make it up to you. I have enough magic left to do that much.” Lightly he brushed Steve’s forehead and wished once more he could change memories, erase himself from a person’s thoughts. The best he could do was create an illusion in Steve’s mind, so that if he did remember everything after the plane crashed, it would seem like a strange dream. He smoothed a stray lock of hair back into place. “It’s all I can manage…”

Summoning the last bit of his magic, Loki teleported them both to the crash site.

Here and there fires still burned among the wreckage, a bit of gasoline and chemicals resisting the cold and blowing snow. Loki swallowed hard and grew a plinth out of the ice on which he laid the beautiful man’s body. “I promise I’ll return one day for you,” he murmured. “Once my magic has returned, I’ll keep my word and take you wherever you want to go.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips on Steve’s. “One day, I’ll prove I’m worthy. I’ll bring you to Asgard with me so you’ll understand. Until then I’ll build you a palace where you can sleep until the day someone comes for you.” Fighting back tears, Loki felt the air growing colder around him. He stepped back and, watching his hands glow blue, he gathered the winds and ice and formed a mountain to protect Steven Rogers, the first man who he’d ever been honest to.

Steven Rogers, who made him want to be a better man.

Steve.


	9. Epilogue

Thor and Sif were waiting when he returned to Asgard. Loki nearly collapsed, his energy almost completely gone, and he felt his brother’s arms underneath him. “It’s done,” he managed quietly before he fainted.

When he came to he was in his chamber. He cracked open his eyes, feeling as if he’d slept for centuries, and saw his mother at his bedside. Her reddish curls glowed softly in the firelight, and her eyes were soft with sympathy. “My son, you wake. I am glad of this.”

“Mother,” he croaked, his throat sore.

“Your brother and Lady Sif have availed me of your adventures, and I am sorry that they ended as they did. But it is all for the best, I think.”

Loki forced himself to a sitting position and glared at her. “How can you say that, Mother? Are you not proud that I, your wayward son, finally found someone worth trusting and believing in?”

The woman shook her head. “Far from it. I am proud of all you have done. But mortal lives are but an eyeblink for us, and I would never wish for you to feel the pain of loss.”

“It need not be loss if someone would help me bring him here,” Loki muttered. “If everyone weren’t so afraid of Father that they’d be willing to take a risk.”

“Some risks aren’t meant to be taken, my son,” Frigga said. She stood and retrieved a bowl from the table. “Here, drink this soup. It will help you sleep so you can restore yourself. You nearly died using all of your magic, and it will speed your recovery.”

With trembling hands Loki took the bowl. The aroma wafting from it was warm and slightly tangy, but the taste on his lips was bitter. He swallowed it hard, forcing it past the lump in his throat.  _ It’s Father’s fault, for being unreasonable,  _ he thought as he drank.  _ It’s Thor’s and Sif’s, for refusing to help me. I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done. When I’m in charge, all of that will change. All of— _

The bitterness crept into his stomach and an acrid stench invaded his nostrils. He coughed, dropping the bowl. Soup spilled across the blankets, and a sudden dizziness overtook him. Carefully Frigga helped him lie back on the pillows and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from her sleeve. As the world around him faded, he thought he heard his brother’s voice.

“Is it done?”

“It is,” his mother seemed to reply sadly. “He did not drink all, but it was enough to eradicate the memories of these last few days from his mind.”

“It was what Father and Sif demanded as recompense for his crimes,” Thor said tiredly. “I think it too harsh; his kindness towards that man should make up for his actions. However, I have no say in this matter.”

_ No!  _ Loki longed to shout as he fought against the encroaching darkness. He could feel the potion working its cruel magic, tearing from him the sound of Steve’s voice, the chill of the Siberian winter, the feel of Bucky’s body beneath his as they fought, the taste of apple on Steve’s lips. He clung to each one like a sailor drowning, only to find them dissolve to dust the harder he held on. Finally, he focused on those eyes, ocean-deep and azure blue, thinking as strongly as possible,  _ I’ll come for you. I will take over, I’ll become King Loki Odinsson, and I will change everything! I’ll break all the rules, I’ll rewrite it all, I’ll change everything—for you _ .

_ For… _

The last memory of a man named Steven Rogers slipped from his mind, leaving only darkness, leaving only grudge.

And Loki slept.


End file.
